


rendez-vous au paradis

by halfaday



Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Metro 2033, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, jaeyoon centric, minor characters deaths, overuse of parentheses like seriously, read beginning note before reading ty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: It's the metro, the safest place on earth — why would anyone try to escape it?Or Jaeyoon dreams with his eyes wide open, and sends messages. Never once gets a reply — until one day, he does.
Relationships: Kim Seokwoo | Rowoon/Lee Jaeyoon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13
Collections: Round One: Ringing In The Fanfare





	rendez-vous au paradis

**Author's Note:**

> F062: Jaeyoon, who’s lonely and depressed, texts a random number in search of a friend. Rowoon is the one who receives the message.
> 
> 1) this fic is based on the universe of metro 2033, as a whole, and more precisely, metro 2035. which means that this takes place in a metro, more specifically: the Seoul Metropolitan Subway. so i advise you to look up some maps before starting your reading, just in case you want a visual representation of the whole thing. (visitkorea’s map is the one i recommend the most, as it is what i used writing this. though seoulmetro’s pretty neat too, along with being a little interactive. both are found looking up ‘seoul metro map’.) the second thing i’ll ask you to do, is be kind about this part of the story. this fic was originally meant to take place in a fictional metro, but as i wrote it, i found that it was more logical (necessary) to give it an existing foundation. i did research, i looked up things here and there — but as i started writing this without a specific metro in mind, and as i have never been there, things are bound to be flawed. you could say i took creative liberties writing this — and i ask you to be understanding concerning this.  
> 2) it turns out this fic uses the term ‘metrolite’ a few times, and when you look it up… it is not the same thing at all. it was a term i met in another installment of metro 2033 (pierre bordage’s ‘rive gauche’), and that i picked up, felt like it did exist. it turns out it doesn’t, but it is a pretty good neologism, so i didn’t scratch it and instead ask for you to be understanding of this detail, again.  
> 3) there is an actual death scene. not graphic, only a few sentences about it — but it’s still there. there’s also brief mentions of blood, and a brief mention of a murder scene. once again, nothing graphic, merely passing-by, but this is a content warning.  
> 4) this fic is non-linear, mainly carries three storylines. all go forward, but i imagine it could get confusing. there’s 0, that gains days (+0.???, the ??? representing the days), which is the close past; +0.238, the present timeline (never budging); -?, who this time represents years, and has no days in its number. this one is the far past — it goes forward too, and thus decreases in number as the characters grow.
> 
> you’ve made it all the way to this sentence, and are about to read this fic? thank you, and i hope you enjoy :-)

🚇 **+0.238**

_20:46:15_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_The guards have a meeting so I'll be here earlier. Around 10:15, I think? How’s that? Is it okay?_

_21:06:58_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Much more than ok. See you._

🚇 **0**

There is never much to do in the metro: unless you live in an independent station, or are planning to overthrow the _Ks_ or the _Dalgis_ , your life is boring — dedicated to the station as soon as one comes into the world, first raising mushrooms so as to teach the child manners, then animals; more often than not skipping education to take care of the younger ones and the eldest — making of a child a responsible adult, willing to die for their people and the pride of their station, along with the Time their clock goes by.

In Jaeyoon’s station, _Nodeul,_ the clock is at the far end of the right platform, right opposite the tunnel — it was once yellow, but is now all shades of grey, and here and there red — it is synced to a time of the past, and it is tested once every ten days, just to make sure it will keep on being a ghost. It is the station’s most precious belonging, and supposedly any inhabitant’s biggest pride. It is a remnant of the past, that proves that life was once something else, that humanity was not always crouched — a reminder of who people used to be, of who they no longer are.

It is the opposite of a phone: loud and looming over what’s left of humanity, unable to be carried away and turned into something else — a constant, that can never be changed. The chain itself to what humanity has become, and the reason it does not try anymore.

It is the opposite of what Jaeyoon stands for — so it is only natural, that it is where it all starts.

🚇 **-18**

Jaeyoon, aged six, has a best friend. One year older, one centimeter taller, and much, much smarter. His name is Inseong, and he knows about the Old World — can tell tales that could rival the ones Jaeyoon’s mother told him, tales that Old Ma Lee could corroborate — tales that are not as welcome when Sid is elected chief of the station and it is decided the most important thing is to build a new life in _Nodeul. N_ evertheless — Inseong is a great teller, and he never once stops. Only makes himself more discreet — rather than making others sit in a circle on the platform, he only invites a few friends to his tent — and where there was once a loud voice recounting stories, now it is a whisper. Jaeyoon, aged six, does not know the difference, does not understand why suddenly people avoid Inseong — he remains by his side, and always comes when the Kim family opens its door to him — never once refuses an invitation, and thus — 

he sees another side of the world.

🚇 **+0.002**

_08:07:06_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 8032-23_

_Hi! I'm Jaeyoon, I'm from Nodeul station, from the Seoul Subway. And you? Are you from here, too? Or do you live somewhere else?_

  
  


_08:07:45_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 8032-23_

_Are you from the surface?_

🚇 **+0.012**

The world was once wide — it was once every colour imaginable and inimaginable — it was once vast, and infinite — everything one could desire, right at the end of their fingertips.

Jaeyoon does not know it. He’s a kid from the metro, an adult born into the darkness, made to prosper in it — he’s the future of _Nodeul,_ amongst every other person born at the same time as him, every other person that will follow them — he’s a metrolite before a human being.

And yet — 

_19:17:45_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 8238-89_

_Hi. I'm from the Seoul Subway. Are you, too? Or are you from somewhere else?_

As Inseong would say — he yearns.

🚇 **+0.020**

Before the metro, there was life above. A sky, blue, stretching all the way to the universe — green grass, growing out of cracks where concrete was, and ruling where it was allowed to — the ocean, a carnival of cold tones grounding everything firmly, holding secrets in its arms — buildings, grey or beige or transparent, imitating the firmament, climbing higher and higher — 

People, treading upon the ground, and, just like the sky, just like the buildings — reaching for the stars, too. 

They've gone now, either underground or back to nothingness, killed off by the bombs or forced into hiding by them — they can no longer see the stars; mistake them for the dust they walk upon — but the earth remains, carries the ghosts of the lives that were once unfolding above. The sky is still there; and rumours have it that not even the bombs could get rid of the grass — that they could not get rid of the ocean either, and that most buildings are still there, standing, waiting for someone to give them their worth back. (Rumour has it that life has only changed for human beings, and that the rest of the world spins like it did before.)

They call it the surface — everyone in the metro; anyone who is curious, and wants to know more — the perfect opposite to the underground, the heaven to the hell they live in. Old people discuss it with a nostalgic smile on their faces, and children listen on and retell their stories with sparkling eyes, the dream that one day they will see it for themselves — anyone in-between the two has long given up, and ignores any tale that tries to catch their attention — life on the surface is nothing but a pipedream, something their own kind bombed long ago. It does not exist anymore: wrapped in a cloud of radioactivity, colonised by a contaminated nature — who cares, if colours exist above, if it rains and snows and gets warm, gets cold, gets windy — this part of the world is no longer theirs, and it does not want them back, has not once called back. 

Life is the metro, and nothing else. No matter what old stories, old dreams say. Life is darkness, and dust. Nothing else.

_01:06:37_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 8863-27_

_Is there someone at the end of this line, or are you dead, like all the others?_

🚇 **+0.238**

The plan is simple, technically: he turns off his light at the usual time, but does not fall asleep. Instead, he slips out of the tent with his bag, past the unguarded guard post, steals one of the suits that’s been hanging on the wall for years, then heads into the tunnel, all the way to _Heukseok_ — and then he waits, like forbidden lovers do in books, like young protagonists do at every start of their novels. He waits, until Seokwoo shows up, and leads the way to the fire exit by _Dongjak,_ and they reach the doors — and they escape, above, and find fate there.

It’s simple, bound to work because of how uncomplicated, easy it is — because he, _they,_ have been planning this for weeks, and if everything fits their schedules, then certainly it must fit the universe’s too. It’s simple, the most uneventful start of something — guaranteed to end well, to work out.

Jaeyoon glances at his screen one last time, and lies down on his bed, one last time. He extends his hand, and with a _click —_ he puts the plan into motion.

🚇 **0**

Junwoo is nine years old, almost ten — he’s half the size of the sealed off doors by the far right of the station, and incessantly curious, always yearning for more. He’s a dreamer, a child who wants to see, know, _do_ everything — he lacks role models of the same mindset, and has found in Jaeyoon a pale imitation of one. Jaeyoon is the only adult who will tell him tales without scowling — the only adult who will take him along on journeys to the factory or who will show him old belongings, remnants of the past — the only adult who will listen to him, and not once tell him to give up.

Junwoo is sick — dying. He’s not making it past this year, and it shows, gets a little more obvious every time Jaeyoon sees him. A face that only gets gaunter, a voice that gets coarser — hands that no longer shape the world as easily as before, feet that struggle to carry their own weight.

To Jaeyoon, there is only one culprit — the same as always, the one that sometimes comes much earlier than it should, that has to stand by the door while its victim accepts their destiny. It’s the metro, of course — the tunnel, and its darkness — the dust that’s been there for years, and that crawls into people’s throats, that settles in their lungs. It’s the doom they cursed themselves with, the tragedy they locked themselves in.

It’s nothing a child deserves, no way one should ever meet their fate.

And yet —

‘What’s that in your hand? Did you find something at the factory?’

Jaeyoon pockets the old phone he just found — knows it is better to stay quiet. He lies,

‘An old alarm clock. I wanna try fixing it. You're in it?’

and Junwoo falls for it.

_Of course!_

Yet none will fix this problem.

🚇 **+0.238**

_[unsent]_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_Good luck._

🚇 **-17**

Eight years old Inseong has gotten into the habit of stealing the few books his parents have forbidden him from reading — has bestowed upon Jaeyoon the habit of reading their content above his shoulder, then by his side, while they sit in one’s corner of his tent. It’s fascinating — tales about countries and continents and planets, tales about normal people leading normal lives in a normal world. It’s everything Jaeyoon has ever wanted, he realises on one night, while reading by candlelight, and he words the thought, whispers it to Inseong as they get into bed.

‘Right,’ is what Inseong replies — glancing at him then back at the illustrations of the book they’ve been reading, an encyclopedia on Japan from the 2000s. (Jaeyoon doesn’t know how long it has been since then, but he likes to believe Tsutenkaku still stands tall. He would like to see it with his own two eyes.) ‘I can’t believe we’re here instead.’

He points at the market in one picture, at the close-up of a fish they’ve never seen before — Jaeyoon wonders, how it tastes, where it lives — _lived._ This book is an archive of knowledge he did not possess, of a world that’s waning away. His heart aches.

‘Do you think we’ll get to see it one day?’

Inseong has his hand covering the candle, ready to blow it out — but the question has him pausing in his tracks, and looking at Jaeyoon again — except this time, his eyes remain on him, and it takes him a few seconds to reply.

‘My parents say most won’t. That we’re stuck in here for a while, and that many of us will forget while we struggle.’

Jaeyoon nods — imagines that Inseong’s parents are right, because they always are. But, still -

‘Do you believe them?’

Jaeyoon, six, almost seven years old, really wants to see Tsutenkaku, and really wants fish instead of tunnel-approved mushrooms. He does not want to hear the truth — he wants to hear what would please him most.

And Inseong does not disappoint.

‘No. In ten years, I say we’ll be climbing up above, and going back to what we did before. No matter what.’

The candle wavers, and Inseong turns to it, makes it a witness to their conversation.

‘And if my parents are right, then it’s fine. I'll climb up there on my own. I'll see the world on my own.’

He frowns — barely, lightly — but Jaeyoon knows him best, and notices.

‘Can I come with you?’ he asks — desiring to see more, especially if it’s by his best friend’s side.

Inseong smiles, to the small light burning before his fingers, then at Jaeyoon.

‘Of course.’

‘Promise?’

Jaeyoon extends his hand across the pitiful mattress they lie on, carries the entirety of his dreams in his pinky finger. He wants to see Japan, wants to see the cherry blossoms — wants to see his own country, and taste natural light, days and nights that aren’t regulated by the clock at the end of the station. He wants out — with the person he can trust the most in this world, the one and only friend that’s ever truly understood him.

Inseong’s hand finds his, and the dark falls upon them — his other hand comes to hold Jaeyoon’s, and he locks the promise with a swift bend of his fingers.

‘Promise,’ Inseong whispers.

And at this very moment — it seems the usual darkness is a dreamland, and none can break it — Jaeyoon fancies he can hear the rumoured rhythm of the music played in stores in Tokyo, and — he falls asleep.

🚇 **+0.026**

The thing, with the metro, is that it grows on you like a disease, like a starved parasite — it dives into your head as soon as you’re aware of your surroundings, and settles in as you grow — it only digs deeper and deeper as time passes, and devours you from the inside throughout the years. It’s the strongest sickness of this world, something that no other thing can imitate.

Jaeyoon is immune — or at the very least, he’s less contaminated than the others, has been kept safe by his mind. Which is arguable, if you ask anyone around him: sanity to him is what others see as folly — going back to the surface, leaving the metro, is to them nothing but a good choice, something only mad people dispute. Only deluded people dream of life elsewhere, only deluded people strive to get out of the safety of the tunnel — underground is the future, underground is the most secure place on earth.

Underground is hell, Jaeyoon thinks, but he’s the only one thinking it and standing by it. At _Nodeul —_ the memory of Sid remains, and none wants to oppose it, no matter how dead the man is. At _Nodeul —_ people favour comfort over happiness, and refuse to even imagine they could have another chance.

At _Nodeul —_ only children believe they have a chance on the surface, until they grow out of it. At _Nodeul —_ Jaeyoon is alone, and none supports him.

It turns out it’s not specific to _Nodeul:_ the other stations — the other metros — the outside world — does not want to hear about other survivors from over the country, let alone about a potential life led on the surface. It does not want to listen to Jaeyoon, and looks the other way when he sends it a text — covers its ears whenever the faint sound of his voice reaches them, and pretends it is dead. 

And Jaeyoon starts believing it is — it Must be, to be silent like this, to ignore him all this time — to look the other way and never once acknowledge him, no matter how hard he tries. Perhaps the tales are right, he thinks to himself as recipients 9008-03, 04, 05 and 06 do not grant him a single reply, as the only thing at which he is allowed to look is the long list of his mistakes — perhaps only the Seoul Subway is alive, and the rest of the world is dead — perhaps all of this is for nothing, and Inseong was only ever telling tales. Perhaps he was born to crawl in the dark, and never once bask in the sunlight — perhaps this is where everything ends, and life becomes — something else.

(He sends messages anyway, all the way to 9009-16, because the perspective of being stuck in the metro for eternity is something he cannot come to terms with, something that makes him shudder and retch. There’s Tsutenkaku, its food, its markets — China, Thailand, Morocco, France, _Korea._ The world cannot be dead — it has no right to be so, cannot have been allowed to simply fade out like this. It does not make sense — simply should not be true, simply isn’t -)

A quarter past three rings on the clock — the phone buzzes, and the face of hell that had started to become bigger, that had started burning a bright red, becomes blurry — above it, the sun peeks, and flickers over paradise.

(The world isn’t dead. Not yet.)

🚇 **+0.026**

_12:23:56_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_You know, I'm starting to feel like the rest of the world is dead_

_15:15:00_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Tell me about it_

🚇 **+0.238**

Evenings, nights at _Nodeul_ are quiet — the clock is set on mute as soon as it indicates eight o’clock, and its sound is only turned back on the next day, when the little hand reaches thirty minutes of the sixth hour. The era of the curfew is long gone, abandoned since then — but the entire station sticks to it still, unknowingly — children are always home by seven, and adults, if they are late workers, are expected to be as silent as possible when leaving or coming home. Only soldiers never sleep, but soldiers are a special part of every station: protectors who take on weights most cannot, human beings whose hearts flirt with something else — they come and go as they want, unnoticed most of the time. They're keepers of the station’s safety — laws that have been passed for a good night’s sleep do not apply to them — do not include them.

Soldiers are the hitch in Jaeyoon’s plan, the crack he cannot predict no matter how many times he tries to — they’re wild cards, with a schedule so overdone and memorised that it can be broken at any time without serious consequences — duties that can change at any last minute, a charge whose weight can become a thousand times heavier or lighter right after it was laid on their backs. They’re supposed to have a meeting tonight; are supposed to, unknowingly, be giving Jaeyoon the chance of a lifetime to get out of _Nodeul —_ but their shadows reign at the back of Jaeyoon’s mind as he gets up and collects his belongings. They sit upon each of his worries, crush them down with their authority as he carefully pulls aside the miserable piece of tissue serving as a door — and he shudders as he crawls out, shakes his head as he stands up.

The plan is simple, infinitely simple: there are no flaws in it, no potential rollercoaster of emotions. -Jaeyoon repeats the mantra to himself while he heads to the side of the platform, where the dim ceiling lights of the night cannot reach him — avoids thinking too much, and focuses on his footsteps, on being as quiet as possible. Being noticed wouldn’t do: people would find his behaviour weird, and it would raise questions, would bring attention to what is supposed to be a normal night, a typical day — the start of a new life, the beginning of a new era. What is Jaeyoon doing, up in the middle of the night, hugging the walls with a backpack on his shoulders? Why is he up, when he has factory work at nine in the morning? Shouldn’t he be asleep?

_(Not the surface, again, is it? Why this, again, why, Jaeyoon, you -)_

A laugh echoes at the other end of the station, where there was once a ticket seller — Jaeyoon believes he recognises Mrs. Jeong’s clear tone, and doesn’t pay any mind to it — keeps on walking, and walking. It’s not a long walk — only eight minutes, at the very maximum — but time appears different at this very moment — it is clingier, and waxes loudly — it sticks to Jaeyoon, and weighs him down, asks him to look back one last time again - and again, and again.

He does not — has no right to do so — can only keep walking, until everything is behind him — until danger is out of the picture, and he’s made it. Until he stands above, and the metro can no longer get him back.

Like a lonely Eurydice — he only looks forward, and moves on. 

🚇 **+0.067**

‘One, two, three, four…’

Seokwoo is born on the seventh of August — two days before Jaeyoon, and two years later. He knows, because his station keeps a birth registry, and his father had him registered as soon as he could. He had to run to the other end of the station, wait for two hours to get Seokwoo registered — it’s a tale he used to tell often, when Seokwoo was a kid and life in the metro was fun, when his only duties were to learn the alphabet and make sure he had more friends than enemies. 

(Before his father passed away when he was sixteen, and it was decided that Seokwoo, as his only son — but more importantly, as a young man in great health — would inherit his past, and follow in his steps — that he would become a soldier, just like his father, and protect his people, protect his station.)

‘Five, six, seven, eight…’

Seokwoo is taller than most — he’s fit, and he usually carries heavy weight when he’s travelling with others — he has trouble resting when his schedule is empty, and sleeps best without a pillow — he shaves his head, just like the rest of his troop, and cannot get used to it, even though it has been six years since he first got it shaved. Army is different than the life he used to lead — he has trouble getting used to this, too.

‘Eight, eight, eight… This is where it lags, Jaeyoon! This is why it never works!’

(Junwoo stands up from the pillow he laid on the floor hours ago — he turns to face the Big Clock, and asks it how it manages to work, why its cousin won’t do the same. W _hy can’t she read the time too,_ he says, petulant, and Jaeyoon smiles, lets him have his moment — calls him after a few seconds of silence, and gives the answer the Big Clock will never give.)

(It needs more work, that’s all.)

‘Really?’

‘Really. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

(Seokwoo would like to grow his hair out, and dye it a pale shade of blond, like models used to do in old magazines — he would like to sleep freely, without having to worry about what might happen to his people while he’s dreaming. He has been to every station of the Seoul Subway _,_ but only ever for duty — he nevertheless does not want to visit it as a citizen, does not want to take another look.)

(See: Seokwoo has tasted all the air of the underground, has found that it is the same no matter where one is — he suffocates at every corner of the tunnel, and feels trapped. _The surface,_ he often says, and he rambles on and on, never once shuts up about it.)

(Seokwoo wants to leave this godforsaken place, and never come back — he wants to go to the surface, and finish his days there, no matter which shape the end may take.)

‘Oh! It does… It works!’

‘See? Told you.’

(Junwoo takes the small clock in his hands, and runs, this time all the way to the Big Clock. I _t’s done!_ he screams, to whoever will let him speak — and none understands him, but they let him be, let him pass. Jaeyoon watches on as long as he can, gangly limbs that struggle to carry themselves; blue overalls faded by time, work and low electricity; silky blond hair going up and down with each step — until he cannot see Junwoo anymore — then he leans back, and waits for him to come back.)

_(12:06:12_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Have you ever seen butterflies?)_

Seokwoo wants out, badly — and so does Jaeyoon.

🚇 **-20**

A hand ruffles his hair, and Jaeyoon, four years old, looks up. His mother is smiling, softly, tenderly — she brightens up the dim light in the tent, and warms her son’s heart. She’s akin to a blanket, akin to a home — akin to the rumoured sun, always burning and never once giving up.

She's everything Jaeyoon has never seen, and thinks he can feel when she hugs him tightly — when she kisses him goodnight and tuck him into the single bed they have, when she greets him with a hug. The ocean, the skies, the grass, the world itself —

‘Have you slept well? What did you dream of, today? Tell me all about it.’

— she is everything, and so much more — the entire universe, without anyone controlling her — the sun illuminating the perpetual darkness, the light that carries Jaeyoon’s hopes.

So naturally, the tunnel swallows her.

🚇 **+0.086**

_21:54:13_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Radioactivity isn’t as much of a danger as it used to be. I mean, the air isn’t clean, of course. But — the monsters aren’t there anymore._

_21:58:12_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_Do you think living above is possible, then?_

_22:13:22_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_That. And so much more._

🚇 **+0.091**

Junwoo beams — coughs — goes back to smiling brightly, eyes sparkling as they stare at Jaeyoon.

‘And they call them whales?’

Jaeyoon nods, repeats the name.

‘Whales, yes.’ He remembers something, ruffles Junwoo’s hair before standing up. ‘Stay right here. I have pictures.’

They’re old — date back to the 1990s, however how long ago this was — but Jaeyoon believes whales haven’t changed that much since then. Not that Junwoo would really care about the answer: he skims through the book fervently, devours each and every page with an eagerness that is almost frightening — _wows_ at every picture, and reads each description out loud.

 _The blue whale can live up to ninety years,_ he recites, _the mass of a narwhal is nine hundred and forty kgs, bowhead whales are capable of breaking through ice with their massive skulls_ — Jaeyoon knows it all, has reread the book a million times, but he still listens, still asks Junwoo to keep reading when the latter feels like he’s bothering more than anything. 

‘Go ahead,’ he says, and he leans back against the pillar by his tent, curls up into a ball. ‘I'm interested.’

Junwoo throws him a glance, doubts him — but he buries the insecurity deep into himself, and carries on.

 _The humpback whale is a species that is commonly found all over the world. Their scientific name,_ Megaptera Novaeangliae, _refers to their massive pectoral fins, which can grow up to five metres long. They’re well-known for their songs and for their very social behaviour, which has led to cities opening an activity of ‘whale-watching’, in which boats approach them and let the people aboard interact with them for a few minutes._

_(They’re in general very friendly with humans, and protective of other species,_ Jaeyoon remembers reading a hundred times -- can predict the moment the line will come up, and smiles when it does. Unaware, happy — Junwoo continues his reading, and Jaeyoon sinks into his memories, just once.)

🚇 **-17**

‘They grant wishes, you know. Whales.’

Jaeyoon looks up from the book Inseong gave him.

‘Really?’

Inseong nods, proudly. ‘Really. Old people used to say that if you came across whales while at sea, the ocean would grant you one thing.’

The book is long forgotten: Jaeyoon can’t quite believe his ears.

‘Really?’

Inseong smiles. ‘Really.’

🚇 **+0.092**

‘What would you wish for?’

_14:17:51_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Don’t… quote me on this, I haven’t gone That far. But… as far as I know… they’re still out there, yeah._

‘I don’t know. Thinking of it, being out there and getting to see whales… I don’t think I’d need to wish for anything, you know?’

‘I get it.’

‘What about you?’

Junwoo coughs, wipes whatever came out of his mouth on his sleeve. He smiles, feebly.

‘Health, I think.’

🚇 **+0.238**

It's a path that Jaeyoon has taken since he turned thirteen, since he started working at the factory — running alongside the entire station, a straight line that seemed to never end back then. Now — the feeling has only worsened, and eternity drags each of his steps down — it tries to pull him back, and when he refuses — it waits for him to mess up.

(He ignores it.)

At the two thirds of the station there is the remnant of a subway light, something that, according to Old Ma Lee, was used during emergencies or check-ups. The light would glow red during renovations and troubles — it would go back to green then fade once life could go back to usual. Rumour has it it was alight when the first bombs fell — and it stayed like this for a few years, bright red reminding everyone of where they stood. But leaving it on meant losing an enormous amount of power: on February 1st, its cables were cut, and it stopped glowing. (Life, however, did not go back to usual. Jaeyoon sometimes blames it on the lack of green. Other times — his reflection is enough to set him straight.)

At the two thirds of the station, right by the subway light, the temperature is better — tents are bigger, but sparse — families live here, until something happens to them, and there aren’t enough people in the tent to justify the space it takes. It’s something that’s become common, over the years; something that everyone knows — something rich newcomers await with impatience, with only their little person in mind, and no regards whatsoever to the people living there. It’s — sickening, to Jaeyoon, but survival is survival — and he loathes to admit it but — he understood it then, understands it now. Doesn’t think it’s fair, but… 

Almost at the middle of the family space, there is a tent, slightly higher than the ones around it — a bell hangs before its flaps, and drawings adorn its top — all of them familiar even from afar, all of them carved into Jaeyoon’s mind. Most of them were born before his very eyes — the rest he was shown proudly, like they were the greatest piece of the century. No light emanates from the tent: its three inhabitants have gone to sleep. Earlier than Junwoo’s usual bedtime, but — he isn’t there anymore, and Jaeyoon figures his siblings need sleep — figures his mother needs space, to grieve and try to come to terms with the loss of her oldest child. He doesn’t know if she ever will, won’t be there to witness her growth — but he hopes she will, from the very bottom of his heart. (Personally — he won’t. The round, wooden pendant resting between his collarbones reminds him of it every day.)

(But he figures it’s fine — that’s a piece of his friend he’ll take to the surface, a piece of his dreams that will make it. It’s a fair trade for Junwoo’s fate, something he deserves above all now that Junwoo no longer lives. Jaeyoon is alright with this pain — as long as it allows Junwoo to soar from then on.)

Past the family space and the tent of the Shins, is a space like the one Jaeyoon came from — tents for people who live on their own or ‘flatmates’, tents for the usual station citizen. Soldiers have their tent at the far right, at the very opposite of the pillars by which Jaeyoon stands right now — huge, almost threatening — much too different from the others, a synonym of a higher power. Jaeyoon fancies he can see a light on in one of the tents — ignores it, keeps on walking. The meeting isn’t for everyone — surely, the youngest have been tasked to stay back and stand guard over the equipment. _Nodeul_ is a peaceful station, doesn’t have robbers like _Jamsil,_ but one never knows — newcomers are a thing, after all, and some of them aren’t as innocent as they pretend to be. (People who have been there all their life exist too, after all, and one can never predict their next move. Will they go to the factory tomorrow, or will they teach the children how to sing? Will they enroll in the army, or decide to join another station? Will they remain here forever, or will they attempt to build a life on the surface?)

(Jaeyoon walks, walks, and walks, until he no longer sees the tent, until the darkness of the tunnel, the light of the guard post, are visible, far, far, far away. He breathes in, breathes out. Between his collarbones, his wish trembles.)

🚇 **+0.121**

Technically, Jaeyoon has friends. A few guys of his age who work at the factory — a girl, Jinye, who’s the exact same age as him, who arrived at _Nodeul_ on her fifth birthday. They greet him when they see him, and always offer him to sit at their table at the canteen of the factory — they discuss potatoes’ taste across the stations with him, and ask for his input on the colour of the mushrooms.

It doesn’t go further than that.

_18:42:15_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_You would be surprised by how similar the army is_

None really sticks around when you’re focused on the surface — none really wants to be your friend when their goal in life is to be promoted at the factory and work the morning shift, and yours is to go back to what was once the norm. Dreams don’t fare well in the tunnel — and if they manage to keep on living, it’s their own surroundings that learn to grow away from them.

Jinye and the boys are nice, as kind as metrolites can be — but they don’t care about life outside, don’t care about how things were before — only care about what meal will be at the canteen tomorrow, and the shifts of next week. They’re kids of the dark, and do not care about changing their condition — are happy with creeping around, and do not wish to ever shift away from it.

It’s something Jaeyoon doesn’t understand, no matter how hard he tries — something Inseong would have agreed on. Something every kid scoffs at before growing into it — but Seokwoo is only two years younger, and he still believes the tales. He believes them, and he has proof — and he’s eager to discuss them with Jaeyoon, eager to share dreams with someone at the other end of the metro. He dreams with his eyes wide open, and wants Jaeyoon to see everything too, makes the tunnel just the slightest bit brighter.

(And it should be logical, for Jaeyoon to doubt the texts he receives; to make sure he isn’t talking to someone whose plan is to denounce him to one of the big stations, or invade his own — but he has craved the light for years, and he consciously lets it blind him. He doesn’t care about what _should_ or _shouldn’t be_ — for the second time of his life, someone shares the exact same thoughts as him — and this time, he’s grown enough to make everything work.)

(He stares at the sun in his hand, and refuses to let go of it — no matter how much it might burn him.)

🚇 **+0.129**

_1:02:05_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_It has to be seafood! We’ve been eating the same vegetables for twenty-some years! You can’t come out of there and have something else than seafood!_

_1:03:16_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Alright, sir Eat-Fish-A-Lots, let’s go for seafood. Where to, once we’ll be done?_

Jaeyoon thinks of whales, thinks of Tsutenkaku — thinks of where Mr. Wong said he lived, and the place Inseong once pointed at on a map — he thinks of the sky, its clouds, the breeze that moves them, and the infinity that stretches outside of the earth’s gravity.

 _Anywhere, really_ (he deletes his reply, because no young adult in their right mind should ever send that when planning an escape out of the tunnel they grew up in.)

_1:03:32_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_You know the surface, don’t you? It’s your turn to pick._

🚇 **-16**

A few days before his birthday, eight years old Inseong takes seven years old Jaeyoon to the guard post — shows him the map hung there, right by the closed down shop that stores unused hazmat suits, right above the as equally-unused gas masks piled up on the front desk.

‘This is us,’ he says, pointing at a country right at the east of ‘Asia’ — small, less thin than Japan but much smaller than China — attached to the earth, and with a side that looks onto the ocean. _South Korea,_ Jaeyoon reads out loud — knew already, but there’s a certain pleasure that comes with saying the name, with seeing it printed on a document, no matter how old it is. Their country still exists — and the rest of the world does, too.

Inseong rummages in the drawers, finds a many-years-old touristic guide to South Korea in the last one — steals it when a soldier walks into the cabin and ushers them away.

‘Look,’ he says, minutes later, once they’re back to the safety of his tent, curled up in his bed — this time he points at a region of the country, and smiles proudly. ‘This is where my mother is from.’

Jaeyoon bends over the yellow paper, squints at the many names below his finger.

‘Gwangju?’ he tries. A beaming smile tells him he hit the right spot.

‘Yeah! Mama told me she was visiting her sister when the bombs fell. She told me she met Pap’ while she was trying to find shelter a little more up north.’ Inseong takes out the metro guide from under his pillow (a necessary hiding place considering he stole it from his parents a few weeks ago), points at a name amongst many others, right by yellow and orange lines — _Dogok._ ‘She said it was getting dangerous.’

Jaeyoon nods, listens as Inseong explains why, exactly, _Dogok_ was considered dangerous — doesn’t fully pay attention to him, eyes wandering on each station drawn on the ‘summary’ map, mind getting lost in the pictures the names conjure up. _Chuncheon, Apgujeong, Maeheon — Yangjae Citizen’s Forest:_ Jaeyoon imagines trees, bigger than buildings, stretching all the way to the clouds — he imagines eagles, and monkeys; imagines an air so clean it rids one of every sickness they’ve ever had, rids their lungs of every year they spent in the tunnel. He imagines a station, up in the air, open to everyone — imagines the sun rising, and the sky becoming colours it shouldn’t be — imagines rain falling from above and gracing him with its touch, slowly rolling, dripping down his cheeks. He imagines the wind making him shiver, and he imagines the sun warming his face — imagines the ground beneath his feet, and the open air above him — imagines noises, sounds, the sound of a train pulling into the station; imagines the sight of it before him, gigantic monster waiting for travellers to board its belly.

He imagines a life above, and a destination in mind — the aim to discover Seoul in its entirety, and to only stop once he’s seen everything — a banal day spent at school, and an as equally-banal trip back home, to a house he cannot quite picture — himself, older and bolder, travelling with friends, to a mall they go to every Saturday, to a place that’s famous amongst young adults. He imagines a life without the radioactivity, without the bombs — tries to picture paradise without ever seeing it. (It’s bright, colourful, and everything the tunnel isn’t. It’s full of life, and never once stops breathing. It shines, and shines, and shines.)

(Eyes shut, Jaeyoon can taste it.)

(But only when they’re closed. When his eyes are open — hell greets him, as always.)

🚇 **+0.133**

Jaeyoon holds the book close to his heart — fancies he can feel it warm the insides of his chest.

‘Thanks, best friend.’ He ruffles Junwoo’s hair, beams at him. ‘Let’s look through it next week, what do you say about that?’

Junwoo jumps up and down, loudly accepts the offer. Y _es, of course!_ he says excitedly — makes a few heads turn his way, but he’s young, and happy: people quickly look away.

He’s young, and happy, and healthier than he’s ever been for the past nine months: the trip to _Ogeum_ has done wonders to him, has given him back pieces of his vitality — he coughs less often, and runs greater lengths than usual — is no longer pale like a ghost, and isn’t as tired as usual, manages to carries himself without as much struggles as usual. It’s a new side of him — an old side of him, that Jaeyoon had not realised he missed dearly — something that gives him hope, that makes him think that perhaps, Junwoo has a chance, that he might just make it. 

‘You know, at _Ogeum,_ they make wooden sculptures and give them to visitors. We have to buy them, of course! But it’s free for the ones who take the cure.’

Junwoo proudly showcases the miniature bear he was given, looks at it with stars in his eyes. It’s a precious sight: Jaeyoon tucks it away, decides to keep it close to his heart.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah!’

Junwoo scratches the side of his nose, proceeds to explain how wooden sculptures are made — is awful at keeping track of the timeline of the process, but he’s fascinated, and Jaeyoon would rather listen to him forever than interrupt him. This is new — this is dearly familiar — and Jaeyoon decides to cherish it all, would rather appreciate what he’s being granted than throw it all away. Here is Junwoo, better than he’s ever been — going through the guide of Berlin’s metro, and talking about the artisans of _Ogeum_ — helping out his mother here and there, and playing with his siblings — singing for the first time in forever, and not missing a single note. Here is the return of things Jaeyoon had forgotten about, things he’d never thought he’d see again — he reminisces fondly, and holds each new memory close to his heart, like the book Junwoo brought back as a gift — refuses to let go of it all, because he fears losing it again, fears waking up one day, to a sicker Junwoo, to a Junwoo that this time, won’t be able to go back to the past. 

‘Tomorrow, we’ll sing again, right?’

Jaeyoon ruffles Junwoo’s hair, promises they will.

‘As long as you want,’ he says — means it. ‘Until you’re The singer of the station.’

Junwoo laughs — big, wide, like he hasn’t done in a while. Jaeyoon’s heart swells up.

For once — the tunnel seems alright.

🚇 **+0.238**

There used to be a fire on the ground of the guard post that constantly burned — huge, taking up a good fourth of the corridor, always ablaze — until soldiers found a wagon filled with oil lamps, and switched to them. Now soldiers walk around like lost souls, discreet streaks of light wandering here and there around the camp, candles and matches in their back pockets _just in case_ — now, half-lit by the perpetually-alight marketing board that Sid plugged in upon getting elected, the leftovers of the fire remains, and Jaeyoon takes a few seconds to look at it, pays his respects to what it once was before glancing at the shop at his right.

The guard post is what any metrolite who’s heard the stories would expect from it: something hastily set up by the store near the second entrance when the first one fell down two decades ago, a pale imitation of what it once was — the dead fire in the middle, and the chairs circling it; the belongings of the soldiers currently in a meeting, and drinks, food piled up over each other in the corner by the rails — dirt, and shadows of rats at every corner of one’s eyes — two tents set up in the inside of the closed off store, and, of course — the suits. 

Once a bright yellow, now faded and dirtied by the past trips to the surface — imported all the way from _Incheon Airport Terminal 2,_ a _necessary precaution_ according to Sid’s predecessor. Never once used since the first post fell — since the monsters gave up on _Nodeul —_ never once given to another station nevertheless, always kept preciously. _Just in case._

(Eight years old Inseong used to laugh at the wording, used to roll his eyes whenever he heard it, and mutter it was yet another unnecessary adult-ish thing.) (Twenty-four years old Jaeyoon - understands it fully. One can never be too cautious, in hell.)

(Twenty-four years old Jaeyoon is grateful: this is the key to his escape, handed on a silver platter.)

He looks to his right, to his left — looks behind him, once, twice; before extending a hand, and brushing nervous fingers against the nearest hazmat suit. (Almost expects a bell, _something,_ to go off, but nothing does.) 

(With a sigh, he seizes the bravery that the trip to the post buried deep into his heart, and puts the second part of his plan into action.)

🚇 **+0.156**

_13:27:59_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Yeah, pretty tiring day._

_13:29:27_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Sometimes I just wish I were already above, you know?_

🚇 **+0.172**

Junwoo holds the pendant up proudly, small maker of the greatest masterpiece. Jaeyoon, like always — plays with his hair and treats the interaction as precious.

‘Thanks,’ he says — means much, much more, but sometimes words are lacking, and fail to convey his heart.

(Junwoo seems to understand anyway: he nods, bright, and offers to attach the necklace around Jaeyoon’s neck himself.)

‘Do you like it?’

He stares at his own work — shaped into a circle, flukes at the top reaching for the semblance of a wave at the bottom — the tail of a humpback whale, made to last one hundred years minimum. (The wave, awkwardly sculpted, represents freedom.)

‘Do you like it?’

‘I do. I love it.’

(It’s true: letting it rest between his collarbones, Jaeyoon can almost feel it give him strength. Almost: this moment itself is stronger, and Jaeyoon is too lost in it to realise it.)

🚇 **+0.202**

_[unsent]_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_Is life in the tunnel really not possible?_

🚇 **+0.180**

‘Are you going to wish on it?’

‘Wish?’

‘Yeah, like it’s a real whale.’ A pause. ‘Before you can see real ones, you know…’

A laugh, fond.

‘That’s sweet. But shouldn’t you be the one to wish upon it? It is your gift, after all.’

‘Hmmmm… How about two? One for me, and one for you.’

‘Alright! What’s yours, then?’

A pause. A hum — long. A laugh.

‘Alright. I'll tell mine first, then. Contentment, how does that sound?’

‘Boring! But I respect it.’

Laughter, louder than before.

‘Thank you. What’s yours?’

A mouth, opening up to speak. A cough — small, that grows stronger — for a few seconds, nothing else echoes in the tunnel.

(Jaeyoon changes his wish, and silently hopes for health. Health, health, health, health, health — until the end of times.)

Junwoo wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and smiles — as always.

‘Freedom. I wish to see the light, one day.’

The universe listens, and locks the wish away — Junwoo coughs again, lightly, and Jaeyoon’s heart sinks.

🚇 **-16**

Seven years old Jaeyoon has two weeks left before he turns eight, and he doesn’t know how to celebrate his upcoming birthday. Not that there is any way to give an appropriate celebration in the tunnel, Inseong says, but Jaeyoon’s mother always wanted to make the day feel special, always managed to make the day feel unique — Mr. Wong insists on keeping up the tradition, wants him to enjoy his day as if it were his last.

(Awful wording, any adult in the vicinity that overhears him says, but Mr. Wong’s heart is kind, even if awkward. Jaeyoon appreciates the effort, dearly.)

‘How about _Kkachisan?’_

‘How about a day at home, with a book from the soldiers?’

‘How about a special meal from the Seos?’

‘How about a carrot cake?’

‘How about we run away?’

Jaeyoon looks up, hands dirty from playing with the dust on the ground — standing before the old advertisement board by the Chas’ tent, Inseong appears taller than he’s ever been.

‘Run away? To where?’

A shrug.

‘I don’t know. Another station. Some place that leads to the surface.’

‘But afterwards?’

Inseong shrugs, again.

‘I don’t know. Gwangju? Ma said her house is probably still there.’

 _Gwangju. A_ lthough the name has become far from foreign to Jaeyoon’s mouth, it means nothing more to him than an unfamiliar city, a place he’s only seen in a touristic guide, a place he’s only heard about from Inseong. It’s — far, from here, from the metro — it’s above, and kilometres and kilometres away.

(It’s not home.)

‘Gwangju is… That’s far away.’

Inseong makes a face, like he always does when Jaeyoon doesn’t fully agree with him.

‘Not that far,’ he argues — but Jaeyoon doesn’t reply, so he budges, bends, just a little, ‘We don’t have to go there as soon as we’re up. We can visit your place, first.’

‘My place?’

(A home, perhaps by the river. Near a park, near a school — near loving grandparents, and cousins and extended family he doesn’t see that often.)

‘Yeah. Where did your parents live, before the bombs fell?’

(Cats consider the backyard a shelter, and often sleep there at night. There is a dog, living in the house — a dog the colour of gold, and with a personality as sweet as honey. She’s loving, and protective. She loves being walked at the end of the afternoon, and always makes everything funnier, better.)

‘I…’

(His bedroom is upstairs, or perhaps downstairs. His parents sleep in the same room, or perhaps in the living-room. They moved in before Jaeyoon was born — or perhaps three months ago. It’s close to his father’s village, or perhaps not at all. It’s in Ilsan, perhaps — or far, far, far from here, all the way to the south.)

(Jaeyoon doesn’t know. Doesn’t think he was ever told about it.)

(Did his mother tell him about it, and he forgot?)

(Or did she never once mention it?)

(Did she have bad memories of the place?)

(Was there ever a place?)

‘I don’t really know.’

(Inseong frowns, and doesn’t reply. Comes closer, and suddenly he’s only a nine year old boy, another kid from the metro.) (He sits down next to Jaeyoon, and holds out his hand for him to take.)

‘That’s fine. We can just visit.’

He smiles, like he always does when Jaeyoon is down and needs to be comforted — smiles, and says they can really just have fun hanging around in Seoul, that they can simply go to toys’ stores or the river, that they can just spend their days playing in the empty streets.

(That — Jaeyoon’s mother has talked about many times. That — he can picture perfectly, easily.) (He takes Inseong’s hand.)

‘Deal. Which station will lead us out?’

Inseong grins.

‘I have the perfect plan for that.’

🚇 **+0.238**

The hazmat suit isn’t quite as expected: it’s tighter, though a size above Jaeyoon’s, and much less noisy than he thought it would be. It doesn’t squeak at each step, nor warns anyone in the vicinity of Jaeyoon’s plan — it groans, only ever so, so lightly, only for Jaeyoon to hear as he puts it on, and assures him that it can carry him safely past _Heukseok,_ past the doors to the surface, past any danger that lies above. It is on his side, just like the rest of the universe today, and Jaeyoon can’t quite wrap his head around it — hesitates after taking a few steps into the tunnel that stretches before and around him, doesn’t know how to handle everything.

The two masks he took are perfect, almost unused — the filters match their quality, and rest sagely in his backpack — the soldiers are back at the station, and none of them cares about him — _Nodeul_ lies behind, and it does not call him back. 

(The tunnel seems to have accepted his fate, and has decided to let him be.)

(And it shouldn’t be surprising, after years and years and years of fighting back against it, but still — there’s a pang in Jaeyoon’s chest, an invisible hand that grips his heart, and doesn’t let it go. How will Mrs. Shin feel when she wakes up tomorrow, and realises he’s not there anymore? What will Jinye and the boys think, when he won’t show up to the factory?)

(Will anyone even notice?)

It is a dark path, that lies ahead — dark and unwavering, the same as it was years ago when Jaeyoon stood before it — greedy for more light to absorb, and creeping up, up, up. An unstoppable force, getting closer and closer each day — something that would get him if he remained there, something that will kill him if he doesn’t try to run away. It’s humanity’s worst enemy, and Jaeyoon knows: Inseong would have agreed with him — would have stepped forward, and never once looked back.

(But Inseong had a home to look forward to, and a family to live with. He had faith in himself, and in his entourage. Inseong had people supporting his dream, and had never once encountered loneliness.) (Inseong wouldn’t have looked back, because he had no reason to.

Jaeyoon…)

Jaeyoon looks back, and stares — at the darkness engulfing him, but not quite: far ahead, there is the safety light by the beginning of the camp — far ahead, there is every inhabitant of _Nodeul,_ and their habits, their schedules, their lives and stories. Far ahead — there is his tent, his past — _his_ entire life and story — everything that made him who he is, and that shaped him.

(Far ahead, there is Mrs. Jeong’s kindness, and the birthday meals of the Seos. There is Old Ma Lee and her tales, and the loud laughters at the canteen of the factory. There is the group of children who eagerly ask Jaeyoon to sing every Saturday, and compete to do better than him. There is a dark brown tent that no longer belongs to its owners, a family of three he hasn’t seen in years, and the books they’ve left behind. There is a gentle hand that caresses his hair, and a warm embrace he hasn’t felt in years — there is a wooden bear in a tent stricken by grief, and the same gentle hand in it, unable to ever embrace one of her children ever again, unable to ever stand like she once did.)

(Far ahead — there lies a piece of himself, the person he’s been for the past twenty-four years — _himself,_ entirely, from start to finish, until this very point.)

(Trimmed carefully, and not quite himself — unable to fully bloom, and shamed for trying anyway.)

(A version of the past, that he can no longer allow to live on.)

He lets go.

🚇 **+0.200**

On the Monday Jaeyoon is set to fix the Big Clock, he wakes up late. There’s a unread text of Seokwoo glaring back at him as he checks the time on the screen — longer than usual, seemingly serious, and Jaeyoon, in a hurry, promises himself to dedicate all his time to it once he’s off-duty, once he has nothing to do and lazing around in his tent isn’t considered suspicious.

He puts his nearest clothes on, and heads out, towards another boring day. Can already tell how it will unfold, and prepares himself for it, sighs as he puts his gloves on and gets to work.

On the Monday he fixes the Big Clock, something that only happens once a year for him — the universe fails him, and sinks into hell’s waves.

On the Monday life seems to be fine — Junwoo has his first attack in months, and everything crashes down.

🚇 **-16**

‘Tonight?’

‘Tonight. Ten o’clock, like we practiced. You remember, right?’

‘Of course!’

‘Good.’

🚇 **+0.101**

_08:07:03_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_See, that’s what I wonder, too. How can they even take it? Do they not crave for freedom? I know I do._

🚇 **+0.201**

Junwoo lies in his bed — as if he were sleeping in for the nth time this month, as if he’d been allowed a midday nap after helping his mother out — as if he were fine, and only taking a break. The sight is unbearable — Jaeyoon is unable to tear his gaze from it.

‘He looks at peace, doesn't he?’ Mrs. Shin strokes her son’s forehead, lovingly — kisses it before applying yet another watery towel on it. Jaeyoon, numb, lost — nods. He does. ‘I wish he were.’

She sits down by Junwoo’s side, one arm wrapping around her short legs, her free hand coming to hold Junwoo’s. She’s a small woman, shorter than most at _Nodeul. S_ he looks like a strong breeze would blow her away, looks like the last person you’d expect to survive in the metro — isn’t at all like her cover, and has a mind that could rival the gods’, an assiduity stronger than anyone Jaeyoon has ever met.

She’s been a pillar since she arrived here, has been someone to look up to since day one.

(She’s human, just like everyone else — and humans crack, from time to time.)

Jaeyoon lays his hand next to hers, palm up — offers her something to lean on, just for today, just so she knows she’s not alone.

She refuses it.

(Instead she whispers that none has high hopes for Junwoo, and that she can’t find it in her to blame them. She closes her eyes, and confesses that she’s tired of this, that she only wants her boy to be fine. She tears up, silently — never once accepts Jaeyoon’s hand, but allows him to witness her pain.)

(It’s good enough for her — heartbreaking to witness, and it urges Jaeyoon to leave, screams at him to run away and never once look back. It’s good enough for her, something that comforts her as Junwoo’s breathing gets rougher, and his hand paws for something to hang onto while he struggles with death — life.) (It’s something Jaeyoon can’t bear at all, and he looks away as Junwoo dies, bites and bites and bites on his own hand to keep himself from crying.) (He fails, spectacularly, and his tears get mingled with the blood dripping down his wrist.)

‘He’s free, now, at least.’

A droplet of red falls on the floor, and mingles with dust. Blond locks stick to a sweaty forehead, and pale shades of colours become grey. Lips that usually formed a smile rest closed, and the eyes that stared at their surroundings in wonder are shut forever. 

A light dies, and Jaeyoon is left blind.

_00:19:26_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_Jaeyoon. I have a mission in one month, at the other end of the metro. At Gangnam. You know it, right?_

_I have to stand guard over a part of the station for a few days. We’ve received our schedules, and I'm free on the second night. The others will probably seize that opportunity to loosen up a little._

_There are suits there, and I'm allowed to bring some belongings._

_Would you be free?_

🚇 **+0.238**

 _Heukseok_ fell before Jaeyoon was even born — when the metro wasn’t yet that familiar, and people still carried the hope to go back up. People were less experienced then, less clever — thought the tunnel would bend to their will, and that they would survive through whatever ‘challenge’ it threw at them. Some of them had settled down in _Heukseok_ even though it had defectuous doors, had decided to ignore the warnings from neighbouring stations — had taunted their shelter, had dared the universe to fight back, and of course: had regretted it once the miseries had come rolling.

It's a common legend in the metro, something Jaeyoon was told as soon as he could understand the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. It’s a lesson, for most — something that the youth, and upcoming generations ought to remember when developing in the metro — something that is supposed to humble metrolites down, and remind them that this is not their home, no matter how hard they wish for it to be.

(Or at the very least — this is how Jaeyoon sees it.)

Very little remains of _Heukseok:_ every thing that could come in handy was seized by soldiers of diverse stations long ago, and the bodies the monsters left behind were buried in a cavity by the rails — the few indications that there was once life there have become minuscule and frail, and they crumble into dust as Jaeyoon steps on them. The ceiling lights have been eternally shut off — Jaeyoon has to use the flashlight he stole at the factory years ago — and silence reigns as king. (It’s one more thing associated with _Heukseok,_ one more thing that’s associated with the tales of fallen metrolites: silence has now taken over their places, and doesn’t allow disturbances. Silence doesn’t like humans, and will do everything to destroy them.)

(Yet, somehow -)

As Jaeyoon walks through the station, as he quietly heads to the exit door, and its five-minutes walk to the meeting spot — the silence feels light, and reassuring. It doesn’t fight back when he breaks it, and allows him to create a bubble of noise for himself, wraps around it like a blanket. It accepts him, and accompanies him, carries him all the way to the door, and into the _secret passage_ leading to _Dongjak._ It’s reassuring, almost like home — shushes down the thoughts crashing into each other in Jaeyoon’s head, and brings peace to his heart, whispers to it that everything will be alright.

 _(It’s okay,_ Jaeyoon can hear with each step he takes. _It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay._

Far ahead the stairs by the rails await — the broken lightbulb hanging from the ceiling expects its first visitor in years.

 _It’s okay,_ he hears once again, and he repeats it.)

It’s okay.

🚇 **+0.182**

‘Humpback whales, right?’

‘What about them?’

‘Once I'm done for — I'll be reborn as one.’

 _‘Done for…_ How do you know that?’

‘It’s my wish. The one I made upon my bear. She came to me in a dream, and told me it would all be alright.’

‘That’s very sweet of her. When was that?’

‘Can’t tell you.’

‘Ah.’

‘We’ll meet again, right?’

🚇 **-16**

Eight years old Jaeyoon hugs the walls, plushie in hand and backpack full of books and snacks on his back. It’s a quarter to ten, and Mr. Wong is convinced he’s asleep — will find the letter he left for him tomorrow, but by then — it will already be too late.

There are lights in the station — dim ones, replacing a celestial body half of the station has never once seen in real life — they lead all the way to the guard post, to the meetup spot for tonight. They’re sparse, and only strong enough for the soldiers used to the paths they light up — they’re much too weak to expose the child making his great escape, and fail to catch him as he makes his way out of the station’s camp — can only whisper to him to come back, while they let him go.

It’s thrilling — running away, breaking free from the metro. Every inch of the tunnel begs Jaeyoon to come back, but is unable to get to him — its screams echo in his heart, and yet fail to be heard. It’s liberating, exhilarating — finally Jaeyoon tastes light on his tongue, and he sees more than darkness.

Mountains, rivers, streets, buildings — cities, towns, villages, countries — whales, and fish, and Tsutenkaku, Gwangju, Korea. The world — it’s all waiting for him, all ready to welcome him into its arms.

With a grin that cannot be wiped away, Jaeyoon enters the store by the guard post, and looks for a mask his size.

🚇 **+0.216**

_01:18:19_

_exp: 8032-28_

_dest: 9008-07_

_About your offer. I will be free. How long will it take to get above?_

_05:18:27_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_Oh, you’ll be able to stare at the stars for hours_

🚇 **-23**

The very first memory Jaeyoon has of the tunnel, is something dark and foul — something that hides behind his mother, and stretches on and on and on — something that covers every part of the world, apart from her. It stands behind her as she holds him in her arms, as she lays his head on her shoulder — it stares right back at him as he takes a peek between the strands of her hair, gets closer when he blinks. 

_Get lost,_ it says, thin wind clawing at him, rancid air clinging to his mother. G _et lost, all of you._

He cries, and his mother hugs him — the tunnel disappears, and is replaced by colours. Against the crown of his head, his mother’s lips move, and she whispers - things, sweet words of comfort. She comforts him, and brushes off his fear, temporarily makes him forget about the darkness outwith her arms.

Beyond her embrace — the wind howls.

🚇 **+0.238**

The emergency stairs between _Heukseok_ and _Dongjak_ are, as far as Jaeyoon is concerned, in good condition. Small and medium pieces of it are gone by the side of the rails and droplets of _something_ taint the few steps a brownish colour — but they’re sturdy, and support Jaeyoon’s weight well. They’re made of cement — are dusty under his boots, make a small noise whenever he shifts and accidentally moves tiny pieces of cement around. They’re probably the first stairs Jaeyoon has ever seen in real life, and, though they’re only twelve-steps high — he’s impressed, wastes some minutes of his flashlight on admiring it.

It’s just like the Berlin metro guide Junwoo showed him — just like the encyclopedia he and Inseong used to read at night. It’s aging, decaying, but it still stands there, remains there even years after its users abandoned it — Jaeyoon wonders, if the buildings above are the same, if they’ll look, _feel_ the same. Cement crumbling down but nevertheless standing tall, fossils of humanity fighting back against its sins.

(Tsutenkaku wincing, creaking, but never once failing him, and letting him see the rest of the world.)

He turns his flashlight on again, watches as a rat, scared by the sudden brightness, scutters away — turns it off after counting down to thirty seconds, and sighs. Waits. Waits, and waits, and waits.

It’s - probably around ten now. He doesn’t know, doesn’t dare glancing at the phone — prefers waiting until Seokwoo shows up, no matter how long it is. (Just in case history has decided to repeat itself and the universe, in the end, isn’t on his side. Just in case Seokwoo never arrives, and he’s left to wander around on his own.)

(But he would, right? Seokwoo is loyal, Seokwoo is honest. Seokwoo told him they would run away, and Jaeyoon is incapable of believing it was a lie all along.)

He waits. Waits. Waits. For what seems like hours, for what seems like decades. He waits, and waits, and waits — never once moves, and simply loses himself in the action itself, in what might just become real in a few hours, in what might never become true.

He waits. Waits. Waits.

Until the dust far behind him moves, and the tunnel echoes _something —_ until the sound is clear enough to be identified as someone walking forward, and Jaeyoon turns around, shines his light three, eight, one times — feels like the apprehension might just kill him, feels like the stars might be what he’ll see when he stands up and faints.

The person at the other end of the path shines their own light one, five, four times, and Jaeyoon sucks in a sharp breath.

‘Seokwoo?’

‘Depends. Is the weather bright today?’

Jaeyoon smiles — witnesses years of imprisonment disappear before his very eyes as a tall silhouette comes into view.

‘Clearer than ever.’

‘Seokwoo it is, then, Jaeyoon.’

🚇 **-16**

The light of the store is usually off, but tonight it is on — it shines brightly, glares as Jaeyoon looks up. It’s much stronger than the lights of the station, almost blinds Jaeyoon — it forces him to shield his eyes, and walk into the store while squinting.

It lights a path of red droplets leading behind the counter — leading into two different aisles. A sticky red that clings to Jaeyoon’s shoes, and doesn’t seem good. Has it always been like that? Jaeyoon can’t remember his visit with Inseong — can only remember the map on the wall, by the counter.

And there it is — right above the gas masks, unchanged since the last time Jaeyoon saw it. If Jaeyoon tries hard enough, he can see _Seoul_ written on it, can picture where Gwangju is.

He takes a mask, and walks out, sits by the fire. 

He waits.

🚇 **+0.236**

He shouldn’t trust Seokwoo. He doesn’t know him, and has _(would have,_ if he didn’t block every negative thought that concerns this peculiar friendship of theirs) a thousand reasons to avoid him for the rest of his life. It’s not safe, meeting up with people you’ve never met before, making plans with people you haven’t grown up with - it’s risky, and dangerous — it could cost you your life, and much, much more.

Especially when the plan involves running away from the metro, something not all (most) stations disagree with. But -

Perhaps this is the first reason that explains why he can trust Seokwoo. A series of messages about the surface at the beginning of their strange relationship, when he has a day off — a confession about his childhood’s dream to live above much later, at night, before a shift. A bright dream — one Seokwoo refuses to give up, one that so many have forgotten by now. Something that only Jaeyoon shares, and that none else can understand. The desire to change what is supposed to be his fate, and the promise that he will not rest until it is in his own hands.

The urge to resist the metro, no matter what.

Seokwoo is a soldier, a stranger. Someone he has never seen once, and who might as well be pretending to be someone else. He’s a bet, a kind of experiment à la Schrödinger. He’s danger, something Jaeyoon should stay away from.

_18:15:23_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_And at night it lights up, and the entire atmosphere becomes magical._

_18:16:00_

_exp: 9008-07_

_dest: 8032-28_

_I think I would die to see it, to be honest._

(He’s a light, that Jaeyoon can see even across the metro, even behind his screen. He’s kind, and sweet, and sincere — he dreams of a better life, of a better world — wants the world to believe in him, and to follow him as he succeeds.

He’s a spark of hope, in the perpetual darkness of the tunnel.)

(And if he’s lying — if it turns out the spark is only a cover, and his soul is darker than the deepest hole in hell —

Jaeyoon doesn’t care, not anymore. If death knocks on his door -- he will let her in.)

🚇 **+0.238**

‘It's a ten minutes walk to _Dongjak,_ and then three minutes of feeling around the walls until we find the doors leading upstairs. Unless -’

‘I've got power left in my flashlight.’

‘Neat. Make it thirty seconds, then.’

(The start of a walk, hazmat suits squeaking in the silence of the tunnel. A heart, beating quickly, unable to believe its future.)

(Curiosity, seizing the best of Jaeyoon.)

‘Were you… Were you serious about the stars? That we- that _I'll_ be able to see them?’

Seokwoo turns to him — meets his gaze, and, immediately, smiles. It’s unfamiliar, different from every smile Jaeyoon has seen before — it’s warm, reassuring, and Jaeyoon - 

‘Of course.’

Jaeyoon thinks he could get used to it.

🚇 **-16**

Mr. Wong holds him tightly in his arms, and shoos the two soldiers away — growls something about Jaeyoon having said enough, and him needing rest more than anything. He carries him back to their tent, and sets him down in his bed — doesn’t ask a single question, and leaves to ask Mrs. Jeong if she has a spare blanket or two; if the Seos are still awake, and have some leftovers of the cake they made for today.

(Jaeyoon remains there, sitting. Cries silently, like he’s been doing since Mr. Wong showed up.)

Three soldiers fell, tonight — three soldiers who meant to do their job, and nothing else; three soldiers who were role models to many kids living in the station; three soldiers who had families, goals — three soldiers who were meant to block the exit, but didn’t manage to.

‘The guys said it was pure carnage, at the post. Jaeyoon, are you sure you’re okay?’

Mr. Wong caresses his face, ignores the blood he’s covered in — hugs him tightly, as if he were his father, as if he were his mother. Behind him — three pieces of carrot cake sit on the table, and the flaps of the tent reveal the darkness of the station they live in. Jaeyoon looks away.

‘You know, with the amount of blood there was there… Kid, I know Inseong is your best friend, but…’

_(But I think he didn’t make it. I think none made it out, actually. There was so much blood — god. They must have found a hole to die in and simply… ceased there._

_That's an awful way to end one’s life._

_Right._

_But Jaeyoon… Why was he… They didn’t try to… convince him to -_

_No! No. No, God, no. Jaeyoon would never. Jaeyoon is - he’s a kid, you know. And Inseong is — was — too. I think Inseong told him they’d play or perhaps explore at night, and… I don’t think he — they — knew what his parents had planned. I don’t think he knew what his parents were going through._

_My god. That’s awful._

_It truly is. It truly is.)_

Jaeyoon takes a gas mask, and puts it on as he takes a seat by the fire. 

He waits, and waits, and waits. Gets bored of playing with his mask, and takes it off — stares into the dark path leading to _Heukseok,_ and fancies he can hear something, imagines voices and cries.

He closes his eyes, shivering, uneasy, suddenly feeling very lonely — is reminded of the tunnel that stood right behind his mother, and hears its voice, whispering in his ear.

_You’re not welcome here. Get out._

Inseong never comes.

🚇 **+0.239**

Seokwoo’s glove squeaks as he heaves him up — Jaeyoon holds onto his hand tightly, and refuses to let go until his two feet are firmly on the ground — until Seokwoo points at the doors, and Jaeyoon is reminded that this is a meaningful moment, rather than something that is only about him.

But Seokwoo doesn’t seem to hold a grudge: he closes the doors gently, and tests them a few times before turning around — gives him a soft smile, and gestures to the stairs before them.

‘Are you ready?’

It’s a question that’s poorly timed, a question he should perhaps have asked before opening the doors, something that would have been more poetic had the night sky not been sitting in the corners of Jaeyoon’s eyes (but Jaeyoon takes it to heart anyway, and nods — looks up right after, and gasps). 

_Oh._

Above him — though their surroundings are plunged in darkness, and it is hard to decipher anything — white dots of light twinkle and mingle together, decorate black infinity as if they were paint on a tapestry. They shine, brighter than any light in the metro, more beautiful than anything Jaeyoon has ever witnessed. They shine, out of their will, out of their sheer power, without relying on anything — they shine, endlessly, and offer to anyone who is willing to see, a spectacle like no other. They shine — and they take away every word that lay on Jaeyoon’s tongue, render him speechless and unable to do anything but stare. This is — like nothing he’s seen before — breathtaking — groundbreaking.

(But the ground remains solid beneath his feet, and carries his weight without once bending down. It only nudges him as Seokwoo offers him a hand — and, understanding, he takes the offer, lets Seokwoo carry him up.)

The moon, yellow circle of light, shines at their right — it gives the windows of the dead buildings around them an ethereal glow, gives the cars parked by the station strange shadows. (Gives Jaeyoon the impression that he had never seen true light before today, that he’s been wrong about everything in his life since he was born.)

(Grass, born out of cracks in the pavement, flirts with their boots as they walk. A breeze caresses their suits, gentle. No cloud is in the sky, but Seokwoo promises — sooner or later, Jaeyoon will be able to see some. His hand — remains in Jaeyoon’s as he guides him, as he leads him away from the entrance of the station — as they wander around, and Jaeyoon takes in every building, every obstacle before him — as he takes in the world before him, before them.)

(He gives Seokwoo’s hand a light squeeze, and they stop before a store, similar to the one at _Nodeul,_ but not quite. Jaeyoon looks down, into Seokwoo’s eyes.) (Feels like he should say something, but doesn’t know what, doesn’t know how.)

(He shifts his weight from foot to foot, and nibbles on his bottom lip, insecure.)

(Seokwoo presses his hand, and smiles at him.) (No word is needed — he understands.)

Jaeyoon breathes in, and closes his eyes — takes everything in, and exhales — smiles, wider than ever.

Above them — the stars witness their light, and welcome them into the real world.

  
  
  


🌟 **+0.1310**

The air is cold, sharp — it attempts to cut anything that comes into contact with it, tries to seep through the layers of clothes Jaeyoon has put on for the occasion. It’s something he can never get used to — the weather up here, where snow is perpetual and the sun gives the sky more of a light grey shade than an actual blue colour. He misses Atlanta, misses its sun and its purple sunsets — misses Mexico’s weather even more, misses lazing around in the morning heat.

(He will miss this place too, once they will be back on the road — he will miss it dearly, and wish to come back in a few years.) _(As always,_ Seokwoo says — but he understands — misses every place they’ve been to, too.)

The sea is calm, calmer than yesterday — it reaches the shore tenderly, and slips away slowly; guilt in each of his droplets, yearning in the humidity it leaves behind — Jaeyoon counts the seconds between each new wave, gets a little lost in the paleness of its froth. (Knows that this — he will definitely miss.)

‘It’s a bummer there’s no boat, around here. Could have gotten closer.’

 _But life goes like this after the world ends,_ Chanhee concludes, and Juho agrees, says that he’s right — Seokwoo snorts, and nudges Jaeyoon, offers to come by boat next time.

‘They’ve got lots of them in Japan, you know,’ he says, turning to Chanhee — strands of hair he couldn’t fit in his beanie playing with the wind, blond rising and falling on tanned skin. If it weren’t for the woolly gloves impairing his every movement — for the fact that Seokwoo looks good like this — Jaeyoon would tuck the strands back neatly into his beanie.

(But he’s all kinds of pretty this way, so much it may be a crime to fix a flaw this beautiful. Jaeyoon is innocent — lets it be.)

‘Then maybe we’ll slip into your suitcase and follow you back there. Watch out, telephone pole.’

There’s movement at Jaeyoon’s left, Chanhee elbowing Juho so that he can push Jaeyoon and Seokwoo — there’s movement in the waters before them, something hitting the surface with strength — a blow, sudden, and a shape emerging from the water, spinning before diving back in, flukes that wave a greeting. Jaeyoon straightens himself up — Chanhee quiets down, and sighs dreamily.

Another humpback whale emerges from the water, and offers them a side of herself — a third one follows her, and blows stronger than the first one, plays with her flukes as she sinks back into the sea.

‘These too, they have in Japan, they say.’

‘Really?’

Seokwoo glances at Juho a few times, just enough for the other to understand he wants to know more — goes back to staring at the whales once he opens his mouth, listens while watching the group dance.

(Juho has read about humpbacks in a book, he says — was told about them a few years ago, by a japanese man who was looking for Chile. Seokwoo nods as he listens to the story, and makes noises to prove he’s listening — starts asking something, but he gets interrupted by a rather huge dive into the waters from a large whale, and never picks up his question.) (Has all the time in the world to ask about it later — it is fine.)

There are seven of them, humpback whales playing around in the water, emerging then diving together from time to time. They’re far, further than Jaeyoon wishes they were — but such is luck when boats are absent from the painting — he admires the creatures from afar, promises he will try his best to get a closer view when he can. This is something unique, something that he had never seen before — something he will be able to see again, if he tries a little harder, if he simply waits a bit more. (It is a wish easily become reality, and Jaeyoon has faith in the universe — believes it won’t give him up until he has seen the entirety of the world in its full glory.)

(And, nevertheless — it is a beautiful memory to make, in this very moment. A smaller specimen breaches, and breaches without ever seeming to tire of it, and Jaeyoon, fond — believes the sight, even faraway, is something of a blessing, something that indeed — is worth making a wish upon.)

‘You’ve seen this one? The small one with the slightly fanged flukes? She plays well with the man upstairs. She must know He’s watching over her.’

Seokwoo chuckles, lightly — huddles closer, and brushes arms (padded coats) with Jaeyoon. He smiles down at him, and offers his gloved hand.

Jaeyoon takes it.

(He watches on, and on, and admires the group until they slowly sink back into the depths of the sea — smiles as the small whale agitates her flukes one last time, as if bidding them farewell, and closes his eyes as she disappears.)

‘You know, perhaps we’ll go back with you. I've gotten tired of the weather around here.’

‘Really? You’re taking the decision for the both of us?’

‘Oh, come on. You know you want to. Just yesterday you said you were yearning for adventure.’

A grunt, a laugh — something falling softly, a laugh that gets louder.

‘But we’re not going back for a while.’ Seokwoo, pocketting Jaeyoon’s hand, holding it tenderly. ‘We’ve got the south to go back to before we leave for Japan again. Right, Jaeyoon?’

Jaeyoon opens his eyes — is greeted with the usual grey of the sky, the calmness of the sea and three pairs of eyes looking at him, two of them curious and the other expectant, looking forward to whatever he has to stay. (Warm, understanding, and able to predict the words before they even leave his mouth — encouraging him to speak them out loud, and ready to support him no matter what.)

Jaeyoon squeezes Seokwoo’s hand, and turns to Chanhee and Juho.

‘Right. But I think we’ll add a few days here to the schedule before we head to the south. If you guys are fine with it, of course.’

Juho tilts his head, considering the suggestion — Chanhee makes a face, and shrugs, deciding this isn’t his deal to agree or disagree with.

‘I don’t see any problem with that,’ Juho finally replies, glancing at Chanhee just to make sure. ‘We’ve got enough food for a week at the cabin. It’s all good.’

Jaeyoon nods, mutters a sincere _great._

‘Though I have to admit,’ Juho continues as they start to head back, lifting Chanhee off the ground and patting away the remnants of snow stuck on his pants as they walk back to the house, ‘I wouldn't have thought you were a fan of this weather. You look like you flourish a little more under the sun.’

‘I do. But,’ Jaeyoon pauses, smiles. At his side Seokwoo waves goodbye to the sea, and promises to come back tomorrow — the strands of his hair are even more of a chaos than before, and Jaeyoon thinks he needs to tell him, how kissable it makes him.

(He settles for a simple brush of his thumb on his hand, and looking away — casting one last glance at the sea, and bidding farewell to the whales that greeted them. Over his scarf, under the light, his wooden pendant tastes the light — it weighs heavier than a kilogram of steel, and lighter than the world’s smallest feather — it meets the corner of his soul that reached freedom, and warms every corner of his heart -

tastes what it desired to have, and, pleased — graces Jaeyoon with peace.)

‘You get attached to certain places, you know? You get touched in a certain way.’

He brushes a finger against the flukes, against the wave — cups it gently, and content, turns back to Seokwoo — already looking at him — quickly turning away, cheeks suspiciously red, and hand suspiciously nervous. Perhaps Jaeyoon doesn’t need to say anything, in the end.

(And if he, at a point, does have to — he knows he has all the time in the world to word himself perfectly, no clock to ever tell him to stop. He has eternity, and the universe on his side.)

Content — he grins, and heads back to the cabin, back to yet another moment that he will remember fondly — 

and behind his back, hearts cheer him on, promise that the light shining upon him shall never fade — deep down in the water, heading to their own new world, hearts hear his wish, and make it become, simply, true.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/millesoirees)


End file.
